Dream
by babii-brunette-x
Summary: One Shot: Sometimes in those quiet moments alone, she can't help but think of him. Her good friend and first love, taken from her by war. A lifetime written in a series of flashbacks.


A wrinkly, translucent hand grasped the chipped white window ledge. It briefly tensed, revealing the prominent veins flowing down each thin, once-elegant finger, than slowly relaxed.

Bella breathed out and slowly opened her eerily icy blue eyes to gaze out at the three-story town homes on the other side of the street. They were pleasant, warm coloured town homes, long and thin, and tightly puzzled together. On the second level, directly across from Bella, were quaint iron-outlined flower boxes holding the last remnants of summer. Sadly, the flowers were crusting at the edges, shrivelling up, as they could not survive the cold weather.

Things had changed in her old hometown of Pueblo, Colorado.

Below, a young girl around the age of 20 was running by wearing black spandex shorts and a long- sleeve cotton shirt. Her hair was pulled back into a super high, tight ponytail that swung side to side as each foot landed on the pavement.

Strolling in the opposite direction was a middle aged couple. The woman wore a magnificent red blanket jacket which bundled her up perfectly for the cool autumn weather, and the man, clad in a long, black car jacket looked like he had just stepped out of an old English countryside.

Noticing his wife's overly thoughtful expression, the man wrapped his long arm around her and gave her a tight squeeze. Startled, she whipped her head up to look questioningly into his eyes. He smiled genuinely back at her, saying something that was unintelligible from Bella's position at the window. That was fine, she had seen enough.

Bella swallowed audibly before turning and working her way into the living room where she sighed and took a seat on the patterned fabric couch.

After taking a sip of her mildly warm tea, she leaned back and shut her eyes. Drifting off, her past began to play for her, like an old picture film.

First there was a deep rumbling laugher echoing in her ears; then, she could hear the light, playful words he'd throw at her. She could see the sparkling glint in his eyes that he got when he had a mischievous plan, and the deliriously dreamy looked he got when he was happy. But as she struggled to hold onto these memories, they faded into blackness. It was like a ghost who only visited from time to time and for no consistent length.

Bella reached up to her sagging, worn cheek to find it was wet with tears. Although no one else was there, she embarrassedly swiped at the evidence.

Bella didn't know why she had to inflict so much suffering upon herself. Every Saturday morning, she painfully watched that couple walk by her street, knowing that it would cause her some degree of sadness. Her reaction, however, was not usually as strong as today, but perhaps it was this occurrence as well as the date which had to be taken into consideration. There was no question: seeing the happy couple made her idiotically fantasize about what could have been, what life would have been like had the future taken a different course. But it hadn't, and the past was simply the past.

With trembling hands she reached for the aged scrapbook sitting on the shiny, glass coffee table. Attempting to remove it from under a neatly stacked pile of books, the whole column promptly fell to the floor with a dull thud. Hastily, she put all the books back on the table, grabbing at them from her place on the couch. Finally, sitting up straight, she put her arms at her sides, took a deep breath, and extended her arms forward for a second time. Gently, she opened it.

Bella's whole body contracted. Her chest clenched, making her breath short and uneasy.

It had been a great many years since she had built up enough courage to look at these old photographs. Although it had been more than 60 years, Bella still had not recovered, not really.

Previously, she had tried desperately to remove thoughts of her youth, but as years progressed, the wound was reopened, and many days were spent dreaming of an ancient past.

"Who's that boy across the yard?" asked Mary-Louise, squinting with her face scrunched up like a Shar Pei dog.

Bella and Mary-Louise were best friends – inseparable, most would say. It was, however, certainly a peculiar combination. As much as Mary spoke her mind, confidently and sometimes a bit recklessly, Bella remained quite reserved. Both enjoyed conversation and engaged in it often, but the community found that encounters with each of them alone – albeit rare – were very different. At nine years old, they proved to be a formidable pair.

Downstairs, the jazzy tune of "If I Could Be With You One Hour Tonight" was being played from the new Philips 274A chestnut brown, wooden radio. It was the McKinney's Cotton Pickers' 1929 version, not Louis Armstrong's recent interpretation. This one had topped the charts for 12 weeks, but Bella liked the newer one better.

"Who?" replied Bella. She turned away from her dresser where she had been fiddling with the handle of a drawer. If her mom discovered that she had broken it, she would undoubtedly cry simply from seeing the furious scowl on her mother's face.

"Oh him," she said, prancing over to her bed. "That's Edward Cullen." When she said his name, she had lowered her voice to a soft, serious whisper.

"Why haven't I seen him around?"

Mary-Louise spun around and quirked an eyebrow. Putting her hands on her hips, she too lowered her voice, although very slightly, and added, "and why are we whispering?"

Bella rolled her eyes, snorting in the most lady-like way possible. "You couldn't possibly have spoken any louder than you did just now."

Mary was just about to open her mouth, no doubt to tell Bella that she could, in fact, speak louder than that, but Bella cut her off.

"And we're not whispering for any reason, I just-I, uh…"

"Okay, well – I think he's cute!"

Bella dropped her jaw, blinking.

"Mary-Louise!" she exclaimed in a good replication of her mother's scolding tone, "That's not how a young lady ought to speak!"

Apparently she had stolen a saying from her mother's phrasebook as well.

The light summery breeze came through the window, blowing several stray mahogany strands of hair into Mary's face. There had been many times when Bella found herself hating her plain, wheat-coloured hair as she enviously looked at her best friend's luscious curls.

Mary hooked the hair around her ears, revealing a small birthmark vaguely in the shape of an apple.

"He is!" she declared earnestly, as if Bella had been denying the fact. Truthfully, however, Bella felt kind of defensive as she, herself, found him to be cute as well. She would never say it outright, but Bella couldn't help but angrily wonder how Mary-Louise could say something like that about someone she'd never even seen before. At least Bella greeted him somewhat often and had participated in friendly banter with him.

Mary was like that though; Bella shouldn't be surprised. She became relentlessly infatuated with a new boy basically every week.

Although there was definitely a lot more to be said, Bella left it at that, and the two friends decided that they wanted to play outside. Forgetting her pretence of acting grown up, Bella quickly barrelled down the stairs after Mary-Louise, their flouncy floral dresses flying about.

Tracing her hand over the black and white photograph of her and Mary, Bella sighed and smiled reminiscently.

Their arms were slung over each other's shoulders, and humongous grins were plastered on their bright faces. It looked like they had been playing tackle football in the dirt. Their dresses were stained and rumpled, and there were streaks of mud on their cheeks.

Her father had laughed at the sorry state the two had returned home in and had insisted on snapping a good ol' "summer days" photo before Bella's mother returned home from the market and threw a fit.

At the time, Bella didn't realize how much she took for granted, as they were living in very difficult times. She would never have played outside in that dress had she known. Only years later, would she understand some of the reasons why her mother was so uptight.

Wall Street had crashed just under 4 years ago, and the country was still in the midst of the Great Depression. Arguments between her parents, such as the one over the new radio, finally made sense when she learned this.

Initially, Bella didn't know why her mother had yelled at her father for getting a radio for the family; she thought it was delightful. Now, though, she knew why.

Luckily, her father had been one of the few to maintain his good-paying job in the unstable steel-market, making her family much more fortunate than most.

Flipping several aging pages, Bella came across a photo of her father with his arm draped comfortably around her mother's waist. They were both smiling pleasantly. Her mother was dressed in some of her finest clothes: a navy, knee length skirt over nylon stockings; a simple white blouse with a laced neckline, worn under a sharp, shoulder-padded jacket. She had short black gloves on her hands, and shiny black heels on her feet. Perched on her elegant shoulder length curls was a fancy hat with feathers and ribbon. It was slightly tipped as with the fashion.

Her counterpart looked equally smart wearing a wool, drape-cut suit over a fair isle waistcoat, fitted trousers, a wide neck tie, and a grey striped fedora.

It was rare that they dressed like this, but her mother's youngest brother was finally getting married and these well-kept clothes could finally be worn.

Bella had been unhappily informed that she would not be attending the wedding. Then, sixteen, she could stay home alone, but she knew she hadn't been invited anyhow. Her uncle wasn't fond of children, although she could have hardly been considered that anymore.

All through the evening, the large shadowing branches of the tall oak tree knocked against Bella's bedroom window like it was a marionette being mastered by the wind. Bella was becoming increasingly anxious, especially when the thunder began to boom in the darkly overcast sky.

Reminding herself that she was now fifteen, and far too old for being scared, she reached over to the old radio which was transferred to her room, and flicked it on.

_"The arts cannot thrive except where men are free to be themselves and to be in charge of the discipline of their own energies and ardors. The conditions for democracy and for art are…"_

Bella remembered reading about the reopening of the MoMA in the newspaper. This was probably a recording of President Roosevelt's address from earlier that day. Personally, she didn't really understand the grand importance of art. Secretly, she didn't really care for it, and she found his speech incredibly boring.

Bella immediately switched it to "Abbott and Costello," one of her favourite soap operas. Sitting down on her bed, she attempted to relax in her wide, one piece, lounge pant pyjamas.

Only several minutes later, however, a resounding bang came at her window. Bella shook uncontrollably, her eyes wildly flying to the source. Clenching her covers tightly in her hands, she remained absolutely still.

Then, when she had finally come to the conclusion that it had been her imagination, there came another equally, if not more frightening bang.

Bella's annoyance with sitting there, terrified and unknowing, won over her fear. So, timidly, she stood up and crept towards the faintly moon-lit opening. Cautiously, she peered out the window, nervously scouring the grounds. Most of her wanted to find out what was out there and satisfy her worry, but a small part of her was scared of what she might find.

Bella saw something large move in the shadows.

Barely concealing her scream of terror, she leapt to the floor, putting the solid wall behind her. "Abbott and Costello" was wrapping up and Bella hadn't really gotten a chance to listen to it.

"Bella!" whisper-shouted a smooth, tenor voice.

Bella's eyebrows knitted together as her head automatically tilted to one side. Turning her gaze to the window, she remained where she was; wondering if that had been her imagination. Perhaps she was hearing familiar voices, subconsciously trying to soothe herself.

"Bella? It's Edward. I'm sorry to have frightened you. Can I come in?"

Bella flopped in relief and rapidly hurried down the wooden stairs to the front door. Double-checking to make sure it truly was Edward; she opened the door with a happy, closed lip smile.

Edward, whose eyes had been on the ground, looked up with the customary sparkle in his eyes, and quickly covered the distance between them.

"Gave me a fright with all your paranoid, twitchy leaps! You looked like a suicidal frog."

Bella's face instantly formed into one of playful ferocity. "Well maybe this suicidal frog wasn't expecting a stupid bang on her window…and on second thought, she doesn't want visitors."

Bella obviously didn't mean this, so she was quite relieved when Edward's strong hand was thrust forward to stop the door from closing.

"I'm sorry Bella…really." He held her gaze with an amazingly straight, serious face, and grabbed her hand.

Watching him carefully, Bella finally yielded. "Well alright then."

Edward cracked a smile and chuckled.

"I knew it! I knew you didn't really mean it!" Bella shoved him good-naturedly. "I don't know how you can hold such a straight face!"

Realizing that they had been bantering in front of the door for almost 20 minutes, they laughed and headed for Bella's living room where they were going to play a game of cards. Edward always boasted about his amazing skills in Old Maid, but he failed miserably in supporting those statements, as he always ended up losing. But although Bella was resolute in keeping her bragging rights, Edward's determination was growing with every loss.

Right as they were about to enter the pristinely-kept living room – complements of Bella's excessively neat mother – the lights began to flicker before simultaneously going out.

"Oh my god…Edward? Edward, I can't see anything." Bella frantically spun around, blindly waving her arms trying to feel for some kind of landmark.

"Bella, I'm over here…to your right," came Edward's calm reply.

Bella turned right and unsteadily stumbled forward, immediately tripping on some inanimate object on the floor.

"Stay there," said Edward anxiously. He had mentally thrown out his arms to catch her. "I'll come to you."

He finally found her, managing to relax her in the process.

Gathering candles and whatever else they could illuminate, they created a sanctuary of light in the living room. Despite the anxiety-inducing weather and the unnerving black out, Bella felt oddly safe and comfortable; after her initial reaction that is. It was very fortunate that Bella h ad a great friend like Edward with her, for he was a certain factor in her easiness.

They settled down on the floor and laid out the cards. Decidedly, they both still wanted to play Old Maid – it might take their minds off their undesirable predicament.

"You're cheating," said Bella glaring at Edward with squinty eyes. "I can't possibly be the Old Maid every time!"

Edward smiled and looked away. "Oh, Bella. Jealousy isn't becoming."

As Bella's mouth dropped open into a gape, he added, "I mean really, skill like mine takes time to cultivate, you'll get it eventually."

Although Bella was generally well-tempered, Edward never failed to bring the true emotions out of her.

"Edward Cullen, I-I-I want another game," she sputtered, quite flustered.

Edward obliged and they began their seventh game.

Bella held her cards tightly, concentrating fully. The warm glow of the various candles lit up her face such that it made her look like an angel, even despite the frustrated grimace she wore.

"And that's another game," joked Edward, showing his empty hands with a flourish.

Bella looked up from her remaining card and slumped with defeat. "I watched you the whole game and I didn't see you cheating. How are you suddenly so good?"

Edward grinned. "Honestly Bella? A pure stroke of luck."

Bella smiled appreciatively before pulling a straight face and rolling her eyes. "Well that much I knew."

Edward's chin quivered with mock-hurt and his eyebrows rose and stitched together. His hazel orbs grew unbelievably wide and appeared to take on the quality of smooth murano glass.

Bella stared at him for a moment before throwing her arms around him and wrapping him into a girly bear hug. Laughing, she said, "Oh, Edward, I don't know what I'd do without you!"  
Edward's face broke into a somewhat bashful grin as he returned the gesture, enveloping her in a proper bear hug. "You'd spend all your time talking to Mary-Louise about handsome boys."

Bella coughed indignantly and withdrew from the hug, crossing her arms over her chest. She glared at him.

Bella liked spending time with Edward, but sometimes it was difficult for them to get along – especially in recent weeks.

"You mean like how you talk about 'gorgeous' girls with Jack Burns? I saw you two eyeing up Carolyn Tate the other day, and don't act like it's not true, everyone saw you."

Edward frowned, blatantly taken aback. "Whoa. Carolyn Tate? What are you talking about?"

Bella just sat there staring straight back at him.

"What, you mean last week?"

She rose her eyebrows.

"That was all Jack; I was just trying to help him keep a clear head."

Bella tugged at her sleeves. "Sure you were."

"It's true," retorted Edward, a full range of emotions crossing over his face. "Just ask him! Besides, everyone's known he's liked her since the beginning of time."

Bella looked away and shrugged. "Yeah, whatever."

There was one thing about Edward that people saw as a flaw, although it could have been seen as an asset. He wore his heart on his sleeve, showing his unmodified emotions at every turn. Edward put all of himself out there, unintentionally, and sometimes it was a bit overwhelming for others. Bella actually liked this about him, most of the time.

Now she felt a little shameful for using this against him and irking him, but she didn't feel bad enough to apologize for it.

After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, Bella looked back at Edward, noticing that his face had taken on some new kind of emotion. Before she could decipher what it was, however, he averted his gaze, looking at a dark light bulb, and kept his clouded eyes there.

Briefly interlacing her fingers in her lap, Bella stood up to stretch, and hobbled to the kitchen to make herself another cup of tea. She reached a weary arm to the cupboard and grabbed the tin of teabags, bringing them down lethargically and placing them on the table. Her old-fashioned tea kettle whistled impatiently on the contrastingly modern stainless steel stove, issuing billows of steam into the air.

Bella walked around the granite counter top and plucked the kettle off the stove, spinning the dial off and pouring the scalding water into the cup.

Shuffling around, she removed the saran wrap from a plate of miscellaneous biscotti, grabbed a few, and tossed them onto a textured glass plate. She picked up the cup and the plate of biscotti, and paused momentarily at the window above the sink.

The leaves – beautiful confetti of chocolate browns, burnt oranges, reds and yellows – spiralled effortlessly in the wind before landing softly on Bella's small garden terrace. In the sky, a strict formation of birds was flying south. The glowing western sun was telling of the late afternoon hour.

Bella felt a twinge in her heart as she settled into the couch to look at the remaining pages of the album. Taking a significant bite of marble biscotti, she opened the book.

As she looked down, she made a small gasp and her fingers grazed her mouth. Bella squeezed her eyes tightly shut before drawing them painfully open.

She still could not face it – the angst, the trauma, the heartbreak of that time. Bella wished she could be stronger, she ought to be. Unfortunately, though, she wasn't. The picture of Edward, looking patriotically handsome, a light smile playing on his lips, caused Bella to hiccup with grief. This was before his dark brown hair was cropped, so it was it's relatively short, tousled self. You couldn't see the hazel brilliance of his eyes because it was a black and white photograph, but the life in them was unmistakable. His clean cut uniform accentuated his broad shoulders and tapering waist.

Bella despised herself for ever thinking he looked good in that uniform.

"I don't know," said Bella, who had become somewhat exasperated. "I guess…he's just seemed a bit distant recently."

"What do you mean," replied Mary-Louise, idly twisting her hair around her finger.

Bella breathed in.

"Like, when we're together, he's not really there, or when I talk to him, he'll hear enough to respond, but he won't really be listening."

She stared at the wall uncomfortably, surprised by the truth of her own words. Turning slightly, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

Over the past three years Bella had grown to like her straight, smooth hair. The summer sun always made it glow, weaving magnificent threads of soft golden throughout her head. She wasn't sure if it was just a ploy to attract her, or if he genuinely meant it, but Edward constantly expressed his liking for it. But because of his consistency and the fact that they were now a full fledged couple, she believed his claims to be genuine.

_Oh, Edward. What was that boy thinking about that he couldn't share with her?_

"Really?" said Mary-Louise, pondering this. A minute passed before the notorious light bulb illuminated in her head. "Well, you know boys, right? They always talk about how women go off, being all emotional for no absolute reason, and then they go and do just that. He's probably just a bit moody."

Mary looked at Bella, sure in her observation, but Bella wasn't so sure.

"Yeah," responded Bella, suddenly wanting the conversation to end. "I suppose you're right."

It was just easier to agree with her.

Several days later, Bella awoke to the muffled voices of her parents chatting over breakfast.

"All of them…all of them dead, burnt alive."

Bella walked into the kitchen, her face drawn into one of worry.

"Who? Who's killed? What happened?"

Bella's mother turned and gave her a sad glance while her father frowned in disgust, clamping the newspaper like an iron vice.

"German Occupation forces went to Khatyr and burned them all alive. The entire population was wiped out."

"Where's Khatyr?" asked Bella, feeling a bit ignorant.

"Belarus," said her mother in a mellow tone.

Bella took a moment to comprehend this before feeling sick to her stomach. She hated the war. Sure the employment rates had skyrocketed up from where they had been, but there was already so many deaths; too many to bear.

When the minimum draft age had changed from 21 to 18, she'd witnessed all the boys register – it was the law, but that hadn't even been the most nerve racking part. The most difficult thing to watch were the boys – people she knew from grade school – actually leaving to fight. They were so young. Some were even a year her junior.

Bella couldn't fathom leaving home to fight for her country, she was too scared, and so she deeply admired the millions of men who were leaving every day.

Pausing for a moment, a horrible, unthinkable possibility came to her mind.

"I'm just going out for a stroll," yelled Bella over her shoulder as she rushed out the door in a flurry.

"But you haven't had breakfast," came her mother's faint reply.

By now Bella was across the street knocking anxiously at the door. She had also forgotten that she was still wearing her pyjamas.

Edward's father Henry came to the door.

"Why Miss Swan, how nice to see you. You're looking…," he said jovially. "Trying something a little different are we?"

Despite his enthusiastic greeting, Bella could see the dark, tired circles stamped under his eyes and the weariness of his smile.

Bella blushed, feeling ten years old. "Good day to you Mr. Cullen. Excuse my current dress; I don't know what I was thinking."

Grinning bashfully, she got to the reason she was there. "Is Edward home by any chance?"

Mr. Cullen nodded knowingly and replied, "Why yes, yes of course. However, I think he's in the shower at the moment. If you'd like to go home and get dressed, he'll probably be ready by then, but you're welcome to wait here, also."

Bella didn't need to contemplate it.

"Oh that's quite nice of you. I think I will get home and dress. Thanks so much!"

Mr. Cullen waved.

"See you soon, my dear!"

After getting dressed in a soft, delicate cream-coloured blouse and matching tweed skirt and jacket, Bella slipped on her wedge sandals and quickly jogged back across the street, responding to her parents' bewildered question only with the simple reply, "I'll be home later!"

Bella's behaviour astonished her parents, especially now that she was supposed to be a lady and not running around doing all these presumed childish things. Perhaps she was relapsing and making up for her generally reserved childhood.

Edward was at the door to greet her. He smiled when he saw her, but it wasn't the one that lit up his entire face, like it usually was. It was the only one Bella had seen for the last week or so.

"Bella," he said, kissing her cheek.

"Edward," she replied, giving him a little hug before discreetly trying to analyze him, searching for clues of his recent behaviour.

The lovely weather prompted them to take a stroll by the park. The light breeze accented the hot sun perfectly, leaving the day a phenomenal one.

Edward and Bella held hands as they walked.

"Wait stop," said Bella, anxiety seeping into her voice. Edward had been in the middle of responding to her question, and telling her how his morning had been, so he was caught off guard when Bella unexpectedly froze.

He immediately halted, turning to face her.

"What, what is it?"

Edward's forehead automatically creased in worry.

Bella subconsciously pulled her hand back and began to fidget with her fingers, her gaze locked on the ground. All of a sudden, this confrontation seemed a lot more daunting than before, and Bella wasn't sure if she was ready. A storm of emotions was brewing inside of her, threatening to break free.

"Bella?"

Edward put his calloused but gentle fingers under her chin, lifting her head so that she would look at him.

Bella's gaze remained down, but she could feel him staring at her, trying to understand.

"Bella," he said more forcibly. "Look at me. What is it?"

Bella took a deep breath, trying to gain enough courage to raise her eyes and look up into the face of the boy she loved; the boy who had been there through everything; the boy who had turned into a man.

Bella knew that she was just kidding herself. She knew what his answer was going to be. But she also knew that once she looked into his eyes, and saw the undeniable truth staring back at her, the tears would begin to fall and she wouldn't be able to stop them.

"You need to tell me the truth," she sputtered. Bella could already feel dampness in the corner of her eyes.

"Yes, Bella. Of course. What is it?"

Edward's voice calmed as he looked at Bella patiently.

Using more bravery than she believed she had, Bella looked Edward straight in the eye and asked the million dollar question.

"Have you been drafted into the war?"

At first it was as if Edward's expression was set in stone. It didn't change. It remained frighteningly the same, like when he had apologized to her for calling her a paranoid, twitchy frog 3 years ago. But this was different, and Bella had seen all she would need to.

She took in his response, or lack thereof, before slowly but surely melting into a silent breakdown. Blurrily, through her tears, she saw Edward's face slowly morph into one of undisguised pain.

Before she could turn away from him, he surrounded her in a strong embrace, pulling her head under his chin and shutting his eyes.

Bella cried for what seemed like an eternity. The entirety of the situation was crashing down on her, suffocating her to a point where she just couldn't stop. Her imagination flew wildly with horrific possibilities of the future, winding heart-breaking tales of loss. She needed to snap out of it.

"Shhhhh… it's going to be okay."

Edward just kept repeating that line until Bella was in the last stages of her outbreak, sniffling and wiping away the tear stains.

He watched her intently, swallowing deeply before attempting speech.

"I'm sorry Bella, I should have told you sooner. I just, I couldn't. I mean, I didn't elect to go, I was drafted, but I have a duty to my country."

Edward hesitated, thinking about what he was going to say next.

"It's not like I have a choice, but if I did, I'd still want to go. Can you understand that? Everyone's doing their part. I need to do mine."

Bella sat beside him on the park bench, unable to do anything but listen.

"There was only one, humongous, conflicting thought in my mind when I found out, and that was you."

Edward looked at her with old eyes.

"All the things we've talked about, Bella. I want it – I want all of it. I love you, and I just, I don't, I-"

He broke off, on the verge of his own breakdown.

Bella glanced over to him, sidling up to his side and resting her cheek beside his shoulder.

"I don't know how long I'm going to be gone, and we're young, really young. I-I couldn't possibly ask you to wait. Besides, who knows what it'll be like when I get back?"

Bella shot her head up, swivelling it to face him.

"You wouldn't need to ask, I'm already yours."

Blinking, Edward bit his lip.

The sun shone brightly, causing Bella to glow with a radiant self assurance. She was determined and her mind was set.

"Bella…"

"Don't say anything. Let's just, enjoy the moment."

Edward sat there on the park bench, holding Bella to him for a long time. They simply sat there, together, absorbing the warmth of the sun and the freshness of the grass.

After a long while, Bella broke the silence. She realized there was still something she had to know.

"When do you leave?"

Bella hadn't thought to mentally prepare herself, but now it was too late.

There was a pause before Edward's response. "Two days."

Bella didn't say anything as she sat backwards again. She leaned into Edward's chest and closed her eyes.

She began to imagine what it would be like the day Edward was leaving, but she quickly rushed past that to what it would be like when he came home. Bella had to think happy thoughts.

It would no doubt be difficult for him returning. Bella would have to be as comforting as she could be. Hopefully, when he came home, they would be able to settle in together. When Edward was ready, he could continue on to college like he'd hoped to. After that, with stable jobs, they could get a pleasant home. Bella pictured a sunny yellow house bordered in white; long, narrowish windows and white shutters. There would be wooden porch chairs for enjoying the colourful front garden and a simple metal post box for all their mail.

She imagined two adorable children: one girl and one boy. Edward would be an excellent father. When he came home from work, the children would run over to him, clinging to him like clothes pins. The family could often go outside and enjoy some quality time just fooling around. Bella didn't need to think about what it would be like when the children grew up, that would come with time.

Life wouldn't be perfect, but what life truly is?

Edward was going to be alright. He had to be.

Bella sidled up closer to Edward, wrapping her arms around his torso. She blew out a strong breath as she dispensed all her thoughts and relaxed in the moment.

He squeezed her tighter as they remained there, sitting on the park bench.

After Edward trained at Arzew in French Morocco, he and the rest of the 36th Infantry Division departed for Sicily, Italy.

Several months passed where all Bella could do was listen to the radio and hope for the best.

Edward never came home.

His parents received a telegram in late September. He had been killed on the 13th of September, 1943.

On his own initiative, he had moved over a hill, under enemy fire, to a point within a few yards of an enemy gun emplacement. Using a hand grenade, he single-handedly destroyed the machine gun and 3 of the crew. When his platoon was once more delayed by the intense enemy fire, he advanced directly to the front, midway between 3 hostile machine gun nests, and killed the crew of another gun emplacement. Stopping to assist a wounded fellow soldier, he was shot in the chest and died in the field.

Edward was one of the four men from Pueblo, Colorado to receive the Medal of Honor, one of the highest degrees of recognition. Pueblo was nicknamed the "Home of Heroes" as no other city in the country had as many Medal of Honor recipients.

Bella spent many years after that in constant memory of him. Everything she did somehow reminded her of him. But in the winter of 1951, she married and became Mrs. Bella Abigail Sitter.

She and her husband spent 56 wonderful years together before her husband died in his sleep, two years ago.

Before Edward had left for training, he had forced the prospect that he may not return upon her. Against Bella's protests, he had insisted she move on immediately after being notified of his death. At the time, she had been nothing but mortified and resolute against his wishes, but now she realized what he had been trying to do which was set her free.

Bella dabbed her eyes with tissue paper as she quietly shut the photo album. Tucking it back under the pile of books, she stood up, and carried the empty cup and plate to the kitchen. There, she placed the dishes in the sink and stopped to look out the window.

The faint glowing arc of the sun was disappearing over the horizon; it was finally settling in for bed after a long day's work.

Edward had wanted her to move on and be happy. Now, 66 years later, she could finally do that.

Bella silently climbed the stairs, tucked herself into bed, turned off the lights, and went to sleep.

* * *

**A/N: **I know I should be concentrating on my other stories but I couldn't help myself. I'm not going to make promises but I'll try my best to work on them. On a different note, I hope you like this. Reviews are always appreciated!

Love,

Kelsey


End file.
